


A Love of Coffee

by BekahRose



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Coffee, M/M, Prompt Fic, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-23
Updated: 2013-09-23
Packaged: 2017-12-27 10:30:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/977705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BekahRose/pseuds/BekahRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack and Ianto share a love of coffee, but Jack think Ianto loves it a little too much and Ianto sets out to prove him wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Love of Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters contained within. I make no profit from this whatsoever. Merely taking them out for a little spin.   
> **Notes:** Written for at [InsaneJournal](http://asylums.insanejournal.com/25prompts/). My prompt table can be found [HERE](http://bekah-rose.insanejournal.com/146873.html). Prompt was #8 Coffee Break.  
>  **Notes #3:** All coffee knowledge contained within was gleaned from my best-friend T, who just passed her barista's exam! Yay her! I now have my very own "Coffee Girl" whenever she comes to stay, because, apparently, I don't make it right. LoL

** A Love of Coffee **

“Macchiato,” Ianto’s voice was low, his eyes shining with barely suppressed mirth. “Café au lait,” he continued, tilting his head so his mouth brushed against Jack’s ear.

A shiver worked its way down Jack’s spine, his breath caught in his chest and a tiny moan forced its way past his lips. Taking a slow, deep breath, Jack forced himself to calm down; he was really beginning to regret having made that comment about Ianto and coffee and sex. He couldn't even remember what it was he’d said exactly, well… not now that he was tied to his office chair with two of Ianto’s favourite silk ties, trousers undone and Ianto’s voice in his ear.

“Eiskaffee,” Ianto let the ‘e’ linger for a moment before reaching out and drawing his fingers along Jack’s jaw, “Cortado.”

Jack bit back a whimper as a jolt of electricity seemed to connect the place on his jaw Ianto was currently stroking, with his cock.

A low, dark chuckle escaped Ianto’s lips. “And you said I was the one who got off over coffee,” he murmured, his breath warm and moist against the shell of Jack’s ear. “Kopi susu.” He nipped at Jack’s earlobe, grinning as Jack’s head fell back against the chair.

A breathless laugh escaped Jack as he tried, once again to pull himself together, trying to ignore the feel of Ianto’s lips wrapped around his earlobe. “The only other time you make _that_ face, is after I’ve – oh God.” Jack’s head fell to the side, exposing more of his neck to Ianto’s questing mouth.

Ianto lifted his head with a muffled pop, eyeing the dark mark he’d left, just above the collar of Jack’s shirt. “You were saying?” When all Jack did was groan in response, Ianto continued, his fingers dancing along the forearm nearest him. “Turkish coffee, thick, dark… rich,” Ianto whispered; making sure the words rolled off his tongue, just _so_.

Jack’s brain was a pleasant blank, the timbre of Ianto’s voice washing over him, sending tiny little sparks of desire up and down his nerves. He opened his mouth to speak, tongue flicking out to moisten dry lips. “Ianto, please,” he begged, all pretence at trying to withstand Ianto’s punishment gone.

Ianto’s fingers slipped over the silk tie, tugging at the knot to release Jack’s wrist; his own eyes darkening with lust as he watched Jack’s hand scrabble with the other tie. “Café mélange,” he swallowed hard, watching as Jack gave up on the second tie, reaching for his erection instead. “Espresso Romano,” he said, breath hitching a little on the final vowel.

Jack groaned as his fingers wrapped around his shaft, his hips thrust up, off the chair as he began to stroke himself. “Don’t,” he gasped as he twisted his wrist on the upstroke, “stop.” His head fell back, sweating beading on his upper lip.

Ianto groaned, his fingers digging into Jack’s shoulders as he watched Jack, “Café bombon, café sua da,” he watched as a drop of pre-come beaded at the tip. His own breathing picked up when he heard the change in Jack’s, the man was close. “Caffé Americano,” he said, moving back to Jack’s ear, “Affogato… Irish…” Ianto let the ‘sh’ on the end of Irish linger before his mouth latched onto the side of Jack’s neck, sucking, nipping and kissing at the exposed piece of flesh.

Jack felt his balls tighten as Ianto’s voice continued to wrap around him. He pumped his fist faster, hips snapping as he reached breaking point. As Ianto’s mouth latched onto his exposed neck, Jack felt his whole world contract, and for a split second, all that existed was the sound of Ianto’s voice, Jack’s fist and Ianto’s mouth. With a shout and one final thrust of his hips, Jack came all over his hand and shirt. 

Ianto watched, a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth as he soothed the spot he'd just been attacking with lips, teeth and tongue. When Jack’s hand stilled, he reached across him and tugged loose the second tie, his own trousers now uncomfortably tight.

A tiny part of his brain, unaffected by lust, laughed and told him he now owed Ianto an apology and fifty quid. Jack smiled lazily as he felt the majority of the tension drain away; he opened his eyes and looked up blearily as Ianto freed his left wrist, moaning softly as his gaze travelled over the younger man’s body, taking note that he wasn't as unaffected as he let on. Pulling Ianto across his lap, Jack tugged him into a languid kiss “I demand a rematch,” he muttered, gripping Ianto’s hips and holding him tightly. He straightened in his chair, kissing his way to Ianto’s ear before whispering, “ _Arabica_.” Jack’s tongue darted out to trace the shell of his ear as Ianto groaned softly.


End file.
